Just as Maddy turned back, one of the university students took a firm hold of her waist and yanked her into his lap. She studied the smoky ceiling as she listened to his comparisons of her to Leda and various nymphs and to all his hopes and dreams for his and Maddy's future. His musings grew tedious, so sheaccidentally knocked his drink off the table onto his feet. She vowed to replace the drink at once—putting the charge on his bill, of course.

A group of four middle-aged men were more direct in their propositioning. When Maddy caught their eye, they waved her over, and one asked how much it would cost for her to sleep with all of them. One hundred francs? She smiled tightly, choking back a retort. When the man got up to four hundred francs—what she could only imagine earning in a really bountiful year—she still firmly shook her head. To mollify them, she directed them to one of the more likable girls in the back, asking them to remind her topassez le gras back to Maddy.

Surprisingly, the men were still nice to her and even ordered a bowl of punch. That was one of the most expensive orders in the Silken Purse. She dashed away to get it.

On her return, she rushed to serve the sizable bowl, grinning at her fortune….

Ethan had decided to examine what a typical night in Madeleine's life was like, garnering insights into her present situation—such as why she was forced to work so hard instead of eating chocolates on a divan in St. Roch. With each minute passing, he grew more uneasy.

Though this was just another tavern and he was here to observe as he had night after night in his job, he had to struggle to retain his customary detachment. He found himself engrossed with Madeleine's behavior—the skill with which she eluded groping hands, her generosity with the young cigarette girl, the way she made the men laugh with her sly sense of humor.

He could tell every time she received a proposition—she seemed to stifle a haughty air, biting back angry words. He'd counted at least a dozen, meaning he'd wanted to kill at least a dozen admirers.

If Ethan was to be an objective observer, then why had he decided to come back later and punish the barkeep for striking her with a cane? And why, when a young man had planted Madeleine in his lap, had Ethan come very near to wiping the floor with the man's face?

In the end, Ethan had learned much about her tonight—and everything he saw, he grudginglyadmired .

Even now, the chit worked tirelessly, carrying that punch bowl with a proud expression—

Suddenly, Ethan saw another girl's foot sweep out, hooking Madeleine's ankles, tripping her forward. Before he could react, Madeleine and the full crystal bowl crashed to the ground.

The tavern grew silent except for some men snickering. Ethan wanted to thrash every single one of them.

She tried to get up, but her foot slipped in the liquid. She hit her little fist on the floor, her expression a mix of exhaustion and resolve. Just as he rose to help her, she scrambled up. Brushing off her skirt, she swallowed and closed her eyes, as if praying the crystal bowl wasn't truly broken. When she opened them once more, her eyes were dazed and glinting.

The barkeep roared Gallic curses and opened his palm, stabbing it with his other forefinger. Chin up, she dug into her skirt pocket as she scuffed to the bar. As she paid the coins out, she clutched each one, unwilling to part with them. Once she'd surrendered at least what she'd made this night, the barkeep pointed to the door. Patrons booed, but the man was unmoved.

Shoulders back, she trudged to the entrance, but she had to know the women from earlier would be waiting. Ethan quickly followed. In the entrance hall, a loud party was entering, and in the commotion, she smoothly filched an umbrella from the stand as she exited.

Ethan slipped out behind her and silently trailed her down the crowded stairs. Sure enough, Madeleine's enemies awaited her. With false bravado, she hit the umbrella into her cupped palm and asked, "Who wants to be first?"

He stood directly behind her, casting the women his most murderous expression over Madeleine's head.

The closest one's eyes went wide, and she backed away. The others followed, until they'd all scattered.

"That's right!" Madeleine called after them. "Remember my name!"

Suddenly she froze. After a hesitation, she began to turn toward him.

Ethan's heart thundered. After waiting weeks, he was finally going to see her again. He wiped his sleeve over his damp brow.

She needs me more than I need her, he reminded himself, then asked, "Friends of yours?"

Maddy didn't shriek or startle, just gripped the umbrella like a cricket bat as she turned.

She gasped in recognition. "The Scot!" It couldn't be him, yet those eyes, that accent, and his towering height told her it could be no other. She surveyed his face, shocked to find that the man she'd thought was so perfect was horribly scarred.

He stood motionless, as if steeling himself for her reaction. She didn't think he even breathed while she stared at the jagged mark.

"Well, I see now why you wouldn't take off your mask." She tilted her head. "You had to cover up the ten-inch-long scar twisting across your face."

His eyes narrowed. "Aingeal, there is only one thing on my body that's ten inches long, and if you'll recall, the scar is no' it."

"The scaris that long." She gave him a smirk as she said, "Regarding the other, well, I hardly even remember." As if she'd ever forget that searing pain. "How long have you been spying on me?"

"I was no' spying on you. I was making sure you dinna get waylaid by bloodthirsty French barmaids. Now, I think it's time I told you my name. I'm Ethan MacCarrick, and I've—"

"Why?" She tossed aside the umbrella, then skipped down the steps, starting down the street.

When he caught up to her, he was frowning. "Why what?"

"Why do you think it's time I learned your name? Why would you think I care to? I don't, sobonne nuit ." Maddy hadn't thought this day could possibly get worse. She quickened her pace to get home before something else happened. She would rid herself of these torturing boots, crawl under the covers, not to wake for days—and forget she'd ever seen the Scot.

"You doona even want to know why I'm here?"

As ever, she was curious.How did he find me? How much does he know about me? But after his cruelty the last time she'd seen him, and after the day she'd had…

She couldn't think of much more than the money she'd lost on the punch bowl and how badly her feet hurt and how she craved the oblivion of sleep. "No." She paused, tapping her chin. "Not unless you've come to return my virginity, which, regrettably, I misplaced in a cab in London." She raised her brows in question. "Don't have it with you? No? Then…good-bye." She reveled in his expression before she hurried on. Priceless. That bastard had actually imagined that she'd be happy to see him.

"Are you going home?" he called from behind her. "Say hello to the henchmen on your way in." When she slowed, he added, "How much do you owe?"

At that, she snapped over her shoulder, "Why would this be any business of yours?"

He caught up with her once more, striding beside her. "Because I might offer to help."

"And why would you do that? Out of the goodness of your black heart?"

"No. I admit I want something from you. If you'll just listen to my proposition—"

"MacCarrick, is it?" At his nod, she said, "I think I can predict what yourproposition might be, and I'm emphatically not interested!"

"Maybe, maybe no'. Share a meal with me, and we'll discuss it."

"I'm not stupid. You want to go to bed with me again. Which will never happen. I couldn't have been persuaded to evenbefore I saw your face. Now? I won't even waste my time talking about it. There's nothing you could offer that would affect that."